


A Sea of Fog

by LYK (VergofTowels)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Metaphors, Sneezing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 06:49:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19847794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VergofTowels/pseuds/LYK
Summary: Will and Hannibal go out to inspect a trapped animal together.  Will meditates on his own safety and Hannibal's.





	A Sea of Fog

**Author's Note:**

> This is overworked, so I'm done with it. .__. First Hannibal fic, though, yay~ This is so mild I'm not marking it as a sickfic.

It was a cold day in Wolf Trap, VA. Temperatures overnight had sunk below zero and were not much higher even now in the afternoon. Pale winter sunlight streaked through the bare oaks and poplars of the forest, creating black, ribbed shadows that rippled over the snow. Ice hung on shaded branches and created a shelf that cracked under every step. Will’s foot sank into the snow almost to his knee, but he plowed onward, using a nearby tree trunk to pull himself forward. Up ahead, his dog Max was investigating a fallen tree. He knew this one: fall 2012, lightning strike. The branches twisted like the arms of a giant squid. They were pretty close to his destination.

“I appreciate you coming out with me,” Will said, turning to glance over his shoulder. He should have worn his contacts - his sweat was fogging his glasses. “I could have done this alone.”

“You mentioned you might need another pair of hands, and I was free.” Hannibal brushed snow from the shoulder of his overcoat. Perpetually elegant in dress, he looked ill-suited to the Virginia woodland, although his boots and leather gloves were serviceable enough for rougher work. A simple woolen beanie was his biggest concession to the weather, and it had been pressed upon him by Will when he’d arrived.

“I’m not really expecting to find anything.” Will paused by the monument of the fallen tree’s root system, pulled half out of the ground and now clearing his head. The snow was a bit shallower here. Max came to his side and he rubbed her ears with one hand. “But if I do, then… yeah.”

“Trapped animals can be dangerous.” Hannibal caught up to him. Will met his eyes for a moment and then looked away. “What were you hoping to catch?”

“Bobcat, maybe, or a coyote. I found some dead geese by the property line the other day.” He was concerned about letting the dogs out if there were predators in the area. As a pack, they were pretty strong, but if one of the smaller dogs got picked off by something, he’d never forgive himself. He didn’t like using traps, but it was for their safety. “You okay?”

Hannibal shifted away from the roots. “Why do you ask?”

“You look a little winded. Sorry.” Will turned and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “It’s another half mile on.”

“I’m here to help.” Hannibal’s expression was as inscrutable as usual, although pleasant. Will had spent many hours watching his face in therapy from the patient’s chair, and Hannibal was always calm, collected, …contained. Interior. He’d seen Hannibal at his most vulnerable, perhaps, after he was attacked in his office… and he had doubts about that day now. In any case, Hannibal’s hooded eyes looked shadowed, and he betrayed a flush from his exertion in the cold.

“Right. Well, let’s keep going.” Will began walking again, pressing tree limbs out of his way, whistling to Max if she went too far ahead. It was awfully quiet in the woods that afternoon. Light and dark, warmth and loss, played over his face as the trees swayed in a wind, but it was hard even to hear them rustling. Off to the right, a crow cawed once. His boot crunched down into a drift.

_“Hrruscht.”_

Will paused and looked over his shoulder. “Gesundheit.”

“Thank you.” Hannibal sniffed and lifted his face from his elbow. He made his way over a snow-moored boulder in Will’s wake. All planes and angles, he was handsome in a aristocratic way, and he moved like a gymnast or a panther, coiled. He was graceful even in the snow.

At least he’d started that way.

They were coming up on the edge of Will’s property now. Will clipped a leash back onto Max’s collar as they neared where he’d found the geese and set his traps. There was a steep decline here, the remnant of a now-dry stream cutting down this way many, many years ago. Will had been here often with the dogs and casually started down the slope, feet offset, Max obedient at his heel. He had to reach out and steady Hannibal by his elbow halfway down.

“Easy,” he said, and he met Hannibal’s eyes. He didn’t like eyes. They said too much. But it meant there wasn’t much they could hide from him either. Hannibal’s eyes were a rich brown, mahogany, almost red. Hannibal glanced away first. Will studied the rest of his face. High color, still. A touch of dusky bruising under the eyes. His patrician nose had reddened.

Hannibal separated from Will’s grip and bent into his elbow again, turning away. “Hh- _Harr **uscht.”**_

Will looked down the slope and rubbed a hand over his neck. “Smell that?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Hannibal replied, tone clipped.

“Blood.” Will sighed. “Do you have a fever?”

“Nothing of note.” Hannibal regarded him with a touch of annoyance.

Will continued to the bottom of the slope and took Max’s ruff in hand before he advanced. He could hear Hannibal following him, but he didn’t stop until he was in sight of the hunting trap. There was an animal hulking there in the brush. For a second his heart skipped and he expected to see the black stag again, but the animal was too small. A coyote after all. Not dead, just trapped, its leg pierced deeply. It snarled at Will, ears laid back. Max barked. Will drew his rifle from his back.

“Stay back,” he said to Hannibal. He regarded the coyote down the sight. Eyes rolling to show the whites. An animal backed against a corner, finding rage in the rushing, urgent emptiness of fear. He pulled the trigger to end its agony.

“You found what you were looking for,” Hannibal said, his accent blurring the words. Perhaps he was tired, too.

“Yeah.” Will approached the trap, pulled it open, touched the back of the coyote’s neck. “You know, I can relate.”

Hannibal tilted his head, lifted a pale brow. “Are you waiting for a bullet, Will?”

Will trailed his hands along the coyote’s back, to the black-tipped tail. “No. I survived my trap.” He reset the mechanism and picked up the body by the hind legs. “No thanks to you.”

“I have your best interests at heart.” Black coat against the snow, Hannibal looked like a vision, like a Caspar David Friedrich painting. The effect was somewhat ruined when he sneezed again, this time hurriedly into his gloved hands. _“Hrrtscht. **Hruschtt!”**_

“Bless you,” Will pronounced. He circled Hannibal and patted him on the back. For a long minute, Will contemplated the man before him, broad-shouldered yet curled in on himself. He wondered whether Hannibal understood Will as well as he thought he did. So many hours spent face to face in chairs and then in chains… and now Will was standing behind him. The sun was hung low in the sky, a burnished silver disc, and the coyote’s blood was steaming as the temperature began to drop again.

Finally, Will stepped away. “Thanks for coming out with me,” he said. “I’ll make you something hot to drink at the house.”

“I would appreciate that.” Hannibal drew a white handkerchief from an inner pocket and touched it to his nose.

The walk back was somewhat quicker than the one out, despite the extra weight. Over the flat fields, Will’s house looked like a ship at anchor, drifting on white swells of snow. He felt safe looking back at it. Even with Hannibal at his side.


End file.
